My Sentence Is For Open War.

So Much I Feel My Genial Spirits Droop, My Hopes All Flat, Nature Within Me Seems In Her Functions Weary Of Herself.

It Was The Winter Wild, While The Heaven-born Child, All Meanly Wrapt In The Rude Manger Lies.

None But Such As Are Good Men Can Give Good Things, And That Which Is Not Good, Is Not Delicious To A Well-govern'd And Wise Appetite.

Into This Wild Abyss, The Womb Of Nature And Perhaps Her Grave.

To Know That Which Lies Before Us In Daily Life Is The Prime Wisdom.